Charming Zombies
by newheights
Summary: An AU in which I detail what I think would happen in Charming Town during a zombie 'takeover'. No OC's, so I own basically none of this.
1. Chapter 1

Tig Trager was not particular about the women (to use the term 'women' loosely) who shared his bed. So when the young Chicana he woke up next to after a particularly henious bender looked a little grey, a little rough around the edges, he didn t really mind it.  
Hardly noticed, in fact.  
Taking a slug from the depleted Jack Daniels bottle on the nightstand, yet another remnant of the nights debauchery, he decided to revive her for a little morning delight.  
Or was it afternoon?  
He wasn't really sure, and it didn t matter, anyway.  
Hair of the dog, and all of that.

Fast forward to twenty minutes later, Tig had scarcely finished tapping the poor young girl, quite unimpressed with her decidedly unenthusiastic response, when she went into seizures, eyes rolling into the back of her head, something Tig hadn't quite accomplished, although he most definitely would have been willing to write it off as his sexual prowess had it not been for the foam.

She was frothing at the mouth.

"Shit!" Shit shit shit.  
This was bad. Recalling the ribbing and the catcalls about every woman of Hispanic decent he had ever hooked up with, he found himself scrambling to put this to rights, using his years of MC-acquired savvy to erase his tracks-the last thing he needed was having to call in some hangarounds OD.

That would bring the cops down on the clubhouse, not to mention Clays boot up his ass.

Who needed the hassle? It wasn t as if anyone would miss the girl.  
He hoped not, anyway.

He'd load her up into the black van, drive her out towards the desert and ditch the body-it wouldn't be the first time. This was Tigs plan, admittedly, a solid one.  
And it would have worked, too, had she not reanimated halfway across the TM parking lot.

Tig didn't know what happened-one minute, he's got her under the arms, dragging her lifeless body towards the van as inconspicuously as possible, and the next, she's struggling against him, slowly, yeah, but with surprising strength, especially for a girl of her size and current predicament.  
And fuck if she wasn't growling.

"Hey, dollface, relax." He frantically started backtracking, trying to over-ride the voice in his head which was positively insisting that he had taken her pulse several times over, and is further more insisting that he couldn t find one.  
'Couldn't find one'? Tig thought derisively. 'I know you re not that dumb, Trager, so stop shitting yourself.'  
The girl was dead.

Meanwhile The Girl most decidedly was not relaxing, much to Tigs mounting horror.

She was, in fact, trying to bite him. 


	2. Chapter 2

A few miles away, Tara Knowles found herself wishing for a new job.

Any job, really.

Because, frankly, a Pediatric Surgeon had no place in

the general admit emergency room, but here she was.

All of the other doctors and nurses were up to their necks with people being admitted, most of them convulsing or clawing at the nearest person.

It was terrifying, but what was she supposed to do,

not help out? Hide away in her office?

Well, maybe.

All she could think as she slipped a paper mask

over her mouth and nose was 'What if it's airborne'?

How communicable was this thing?

And her boys.

Gemma had them, but were they okay?

Was Gemma okay?

Tara figured the best she could hope for was the

fact that Gem would probably keep them indoors playing.

The infamous Teller-Morrow household's gun collection never even crossed her mind-why would it?

This was obviously some kind of virus.

Still, her over-worked mind would be put to ease if

she could just get a hold of her mother-in-law.

Or Jax.

Or anyone else, for that matter.

Whenever she'd attempted to call out (which was often),

she received either a recording about the EBS or a busy signal, depending on which line she used, land or cell.

Tara was seriously debating locking herself back in

her office and trying an e-mail.

Maybe Juice would get it?

Or hell, she could send a smoke signal, for all of the

good it would probably do her.

Shit was currently hitting the fan-bodies were everywhere,

laid out on stretchers lining the corridors for lack

of rooms, or sprawled on the floors where they had

fainted, or worse.

St. Thomas was an absolute madhouse,

and she was so far in her own head that it took her

a moment to realize things had just gotten exponentially worse.

With everything going on, it took a moment to locate

the origin of the ruckus, and once she had she wished she'd

stayed in bed that morning, with Jax and her boys,

with the doors locked up tight against the outside world.

One of the stretcher bodies-the one who had suffered

from cardiac arrest, the one they had been using the

paddles on, had sat up.

Which would normally be attributed to excess

adrenaline...until it latched onto the nearest

Doctors jugular, ripping it out in one fluid movement.

A separate body, one that Tara herself had called

the time of death on when it coded,

a young woman covered in a sheet,

sat straight up looking around hungrily.

The Doc felt her breath catch in her throat and

made a decision:

That was it. Enough.

Tara Knowles was getting her ass out of dodge. 


	3. Chapter 3

Juice was not exactly thrilled with the way his morning was turning out.

As if it weren't enough to wake up to the soundtrack of Tig banging the new talent from Cara Cara (talent that Juice hadn't been fast enough to get to last night), some idiot prospect went to get coffee and didn t come back, taking his cut with him (which Juice would no doubt be in charge of repoing). ...And now he had no internet access.  
None. Of any kind. Not even a single bar.

How the hell was he supposed to get any work done for the club when he couldn t so much as hop online and check his email? "For fucks sake." he muttered, slamming his laptop closed and then rubbing his face in aggitation. At this rate, it was gonna be a long fuckin' day.  
"Anyone else notice the chick Trager's dragging across the parking lot?" Bobby spoke up, adjusting his bi-focals for a better look.  
Juice (and everyone else within hearing distance) snapped to attention.  
"Wha' chick?" Chibs asked from the bar.  
Not because he wanted to, but because it was clear no one else was going to step up and do it for him, never mind the fact that they all clearly wanted to know.  
"She almost looks dead." Bobby snorted, ignoring him.  
"Wonder what he did to her?" This causes Chibs, Juice, and Opie to close in around him, in a tight cluster, peering out of the windows, blinds open.  
They were sticking their nose in what was not necessarily club business more out of boredom than anything. They weren't curious enough to actually get involved. Too much work.  
And because of this, the four brothers were privy to one of the first turns to occur in Charming (not that they knew what to make of it at the time), safely enclosed in the clubhouse. 


	4. Chapter 4

So they witnessed a turn,

not that they knew what to make of it at the time.

All they really saw, as far as they were concerned,

was a sweetbutt freaking out on Trager,

who was not only shooting, but running like hell.

Automatically, the four brothers are moving to respond

when a shot hits home, blowing off half of the poor

girls head, so they hang back and wait for Tig,

who s still booking it across the parking lot.

PCP? Juice asked, sounding freaked.

Opie and Bobby shrugged, both touching their long beards unconsciously, as if for reassurance, and this was the

only response Ortiz received.

Really, there was no telling.

Tig burst through the door a moment after shooting the

girl like the hounds of hell were after him, breathing hard, slamming (and locking) the door behind himself before

bolting to the bar, and the first bottle he came across,

which was a Jameson.

What the fuck, brother?

This was Bobby, moving towards him, proceeded,

as always, by his belly.

She was dead, Tig gasped out.

She was dead, and I killed her.

This is punctuated by another swig and met with a moment

of dead (pardon the pun) silence-they may have seemed calm,

but it was shock.

Slow down, Chibs finally tells him, taking the bottle,

and holding it out of his reach with exaggerated movements

like one would do to a small child.

Wha . Happened?

He s hoping if he deliberately says this in a calm voice,

stays relaxed, it will affect the general mood.

I fucked her and then she died.

Well, yeah, Opie chimes in,

You kinda shot her.

No. Before that.

The brothers all glance at each other warily-what was going on?

Was Trager finally losing it?

Was he suffering from a bad trip?

Either way they were all in some deep shit.

I must have checked her pulse a dozen times, but she was dead.

Definitely dead. Was gonna take her out to the desert and dump her, you know?

Outside of Charming? Juice wonders, and Tig looks affronted.

Of course outside of Charming! And then, before I could, she just came back.

Tig stares at the faces of his brothers, heartbreakingly, and begs them to believe him without speaking a word.

No one says anything for a long moment, and the silence stretches on, elastic, as they stare at the bar,

the hardwood floor, the mess left over from last nights

party anywhere but at their acting SAA.

It s Chibs who finally breaks the silence with a long sigh-

Juice, go wake up Happy. Bobby, call Clay. Opie, you call Jax

Tig and I will be waitin' in Church.

No one questions the Scots orders, not the secretary,

especially not Juice or Opie, they just quickly disperse,

glad to have something useful to do.

As Chibs takes his brothers arm,

holding onto the whiskey with his free hand,

and hustles him into the chapel,

Bobby Munson can t help but think

that Tig Trager being meekly led around like that was one of the most heartbreaking things he had ever seen. 


	5. Chapter 5

By noon it was pretty clear that something was not right in Charming town.

Naturally, a lockdown would be enforced-what other choice did they have?

They d argued every possible point there was to make from someone bringing the germ in, to do we need to pool our guns . (Yes. Of course they did.)

It was time to do something one way or another, and if anyone was going down, they preferred to go down as a unit. A family.

Speaking of families, Happy Lowman was concerned about his Mother, plain and simple. The only woman in the world he had or would ever love, the woman who gave him life his Ma was his main focus.

He sat through Church, merely tolerating it for the first time in his many illustrious years in the MC because these were his brothers, an extension of his family, and clearly, Tig was in deep shit, which put them all in deep shit.

Happy was obligated, if nothing else, by his sense of duty, to help in any way humanly possible, but after that, after club business was taken care of and the shit contained he was headed to Bakersfield.

Have to take the van, of course, there was no way his Ma would make the journey on the back of his bike and survive it in one piece, never mind her oxygen tank, or keeping track of her pills. Her staying outside of Charming, outside of the clubhouse once they went on lockdown was unthinkable-everyone was bringing their family in.

Most of Happy s was in the room at the moment, but he was determined that his entire family be safe. In one place. Protected.

He knew he would only be able to rest semi-comfortably once his Mom and Brothers were all under the same roof, where he could keep a protective eye on them.

Until then, the so-called Tacoma Killer would do something that was completely new to him: he would worry. 


	6. Chapter 6

So, okay, Church.

They would convene and figure this out.

Happy was up and none too pleased about it, Jax was here,

and Clay was on his way.

"Where the hell is he?" Jax seethed, lighting up what was

probably his third cigarette just from the time he walked in the door.

Some genius/idiot (Juice) had the brilliant idea to cover the body with a sheet

"To make it look more inconspicuous."

No one was amused, but when you really thought about it, what were their options?

A body laying in the parking lot or a body laying in the parking lot, covered in a sheet?

No one was exactly eager to go over there and shlep her to a better, more hidden locale.

They were screwed, no matter what happened.

The best they could do was shut the gates, cancel all the cars they were to work on

in the next few days, and hope for the best.

"Relax, bro, I'm sure he's on his way."

Opie said, trying his best to calm Jax's frayed nerves.

"Probably getting a shot for his hands."

"Or giving Gemma a shot." Bobby muttered into the coffee he had dug up from the

depths of the kitchen, snorting at Jax when he glared.

"What!? It's true."

"Does he know what went down? Where the fuck is he?"

"We told him the same thing we told you. Calm down."

"DON'T tell me to-"

"WHO THE HELL CLOSED THE GATES?"

Clay charges in, roaring, his face red, helmet unbuckled, but still on.

"I almost ran into it-what the fuck am I, Wile E. Coyote?

And why are there sheets in the parking lot? Gemma's gonna shit."

Did he really not notice the distinct shape of dead hooker under the sheet?

Man, either his eyesight was really going, or they weren't in trouble after all.

"WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN?"

Jax yells right back, ignoring the tirade and Clay shoots him a sardonic look,

no doubt gearing up to say something cutting.

Opie shoots Jax a warning look, and Jax makes a point of taking a breath,

flicking his cigarette away, damning the carpet, and pinching the bridge of his nose,

before speaking again.

"We need to have Church."

"Oh do we, VP? And why's that?"

"Tig killed a girl."

Clay stopped short for a moment.

"What, again?"

This is met with absolutely zero response, and eventually Clay sighs before heading

towards the double doors.

"All right. Church."


	7. Chapter 7

"Okay, start over, from the beginning, and slow down."

Clay commands twenty minutes later after hearing the whole sordid

tale from a still-near inconsolable Tig.

"Didn't you notice the fuckin' bite marks all over her?"

Tig almost looks hurt by the question, as if the answer should be obvious.

"Of course I did-I thought they were from me."

"Oh, Jesus."

Juice mumbles under his breath,

and lays his head down onto the redwood table.

"Give me more whiskey."

Tig demands, and Chibs gives up on his moderator act, sliding the entire

bottle over to him. He probably needed it.

"This necessary right now?" Jax wondered.

"We're gonna have to go through it again with Piney when he gets here.

Can't call a vote without putting him in the know.

Although I think we should go on lock down first, ask questions later."

"Where_ is_ Pop, anyway?"

Opie asks, and Clay loses his usual confidence for just a fraction of a

second-long enough for a few men to catch, but it sails right over Op's head.

"He went up to the cabin. I'll ride up, get his proxy."

"I'll go with you, make sure he's okay-"

"_No_." Clay is emphatic, surprising everyone.

"We need you here, Son.

If we're going on lock down-which we are-someone's gonna have to go after Gem.

This is too important to send a prospect-this is my old lady we're

talking about."

"And my kids." Jax reminds him, clearly seething.

Clay nods, once, as if this were a forgone assumption.

"And your kids."

"Let me go." Tig pleads, looking miserable.

"I did this, I brought it into the gates…let me get Gem and the boys."

It makes sense-they have some weird relationship bond anyway.

"Bro, you didn't-"

"I did."

"I spoke to Tara this morning. She said something happened along these  
lines at St. Thomas, something about a germ, I don't know. We didn't  
stay on the phone long…the hospital was crazy."

"Take the van."

Happy cringes. Shit. Have to take a car off the lot.

Clay bangs the gavel, and everyone disperses.

"I'm goin' to get Tara."

"Keep your cell phones on, all of you."


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Sorry sorry for the delay! **

As predicted, Gemma did not take her displacement well.

Or lying down, or any of those other cliches.

"What the hell do you mean 'lockdown', Tiggy?

I gave Neeta the damn day off and I'm here with the babies.

We're supposed to just go to the clubhouse? Where the hell's Tara?"

Poor Tig had barely made it through the door before the barrage of

questions had begun, and was now regretting not bringing his bottle on the road.

"Jax is goin' to get her now." Tig was trying to be patient with her, he really was.

"Look, Gem, I can't get into it…just pack a bag, put the

kids in the Caddy, and let's go."

Even as he was speaking, he was on the move,

going into the closet and taking out Gemmas multiple hatboxes,

knowing full well what they contained.

"And my bird?"

She snarked, pouring herself another cup of coffee unhurriedly.

Mama Bear wasn't moving an inch without some answers.

"Bring the damn bird!" Tig snapped out finally losing his temper.

"Just get in the car!"

There was a tense silence as Abel toddled into the room, looking up at his

Nana expectantly, sippy cup in his chubby hand. You didn't have to be a

genius, or even out of training pants to know something was up.

Something _big_, judging by the fact that someone actually raised their voice,

let alone yelled at the power house that is Mrs Teller-Morrow.

"Is it the Mayans?"

This was a pointless question, one she didn't expect much of an

answer to, if she received one at all but Tig offered a terse 'No' relieved to

see Gemma first set her coffee cup down with a loud clanking noise,

then switch the pot off before turning to Tig, in all seriousness now.

"Give me ten minutes and we can go."

He sighed.

"You got five."

**xx**

Gemma didn't need five-she'd gone down this road before,

albeit usually with a little more warning beforehand.

She threw clothes into a duffel, checked that Tig had loaded the

guns safely and out of reach of little hands, loaded

Clay (and his cage) into the tire well, and buckled her grandbabies in.

The coffeepot was off, the stove was off, the alarm was on…there was

really nothing else for her to do except leave.

Soon, judging by the impatient hand motions that the biker was

sending her atop his idling Harley. It was time to go.

And yet, she felt emotional about leaving her house, her garden, her home.

It felt_ final_.

It felt like what happened next was going to be out of her control and that

was something Gemma did not take very well.


	9. Chapter 9

Jax managed to pull into the hospital at the same time

Tig and his mother were leaving the Morrow home,

presumably for the last time in a while,

and was shocked at the sheer number of vehicles in the lot,

let alone people teeming in the building.

Someone had pulled their car up to the emergency room doors,

practically to the front desk (which was abandoned at present time)

and left the engine running, all four doors flung open.

It sounded like a mess on the phone an hour or so ago, but this?

This was a shit show.

He parked his bike next to the empty car and left his helmet and

gloves on-he wouldn't be here long.

He had to shove his way through delerious patients,

clearly sick nurses, and doctors that were still trying to help

against all hope.

To borrow a phrase, it was like watching Martha Stewart polish brass on the Titanic;

pretty soon the entire works would be going down anyway.

He was going to get his old lady and get out, even if he needed to use his KA-BAR to do it,

which was looking like an increasing possibility.

A nurse he vaguely recognized pushed passed him and he grabbed her arm,

not roughly, but firm enough to ensure that she wasn't going anywhere.

"TARA KNOWLES." He shouted over the din, wanting to make sure he was heard.

"YOU SEEN HER?"

Not for a second did it occur to Jax that he was probably scaring the hell out of

this poor woman-he was focused entirely on the Doc.

"Her office!" was the sputtered reply, and Jackson took off like a shot,

forgoing the elevators for the stairs up to the fourth floor, practically vaulting over a

sagging figure in the third floor well, arriving at Tara's door in record time only to

immediately begin pounding on it, yelling her name.

"Open up, we're leaving."

The door flung open, and there she stood, in her scrubs with purse and jacket

in hand, like she had just been waiting on him to show up.

She managed to say exactly one word:

"Jax."


	10. Chapter 10

Clay left the Clubhouse under the guise of going to check on Piney,

but in reality, had nowhere to go.

His beloved town was going to hell, and fast.

There was no point in going up to the cabin unless he wanted to check

and make sure the old man hadn't 'regenerated' too.

No one knew yet, but Piney was dead…and he was going to stay dead,

Clay was sure of it.

Truth be known, as far as he was concerned, an apocalypse couldn't have

come at a better time. He'd gone off the rails-he admitted it.

Driving up and shooting a member of the First 9 in the chest-twice-was not

his finest moment as MC President, especially with the evidence he probably left

on hand.

Even if he hadn't, Jax wasn't stupid.

Neither was Gemma for that matter, and God knows she'd find a way to

make it her business, getting into as many poor saps heads as possible to dethrone him.

Well, let her try.

If Opie disobeyed orders and drove up anyway, he'd find his father dead in the

middle of what was potentially the end of the world as they knew it.

Maybe Clay would drive up, take some things, guns, valuables…make it look like

someone found the secluded cabin and tried to over-run Piney,

use the old place as their hide out until things blew over.

There was a scuffle, and an old man with an oxygen tank who had

probably been on his way out anyway suffered a casualty.

Sounded okay to him.

This would all be handled in time, but not today.

Today he had business with Unser.

That was another nosey old bastard who would do well with a little more

led in his body. He'd drive up to that piece of shit trailer, have words with him,

and maybe invite him back.

Have him included in the lockdown.

Because if things were as dire as they seemed, Wayne was going to need

more protection than that tin can he lived in, and if Clay offered it, he would no

doubt feel gratitude towards him.

Owe him a favor.

Clay chuckled to himself as he made the turn into the dusty drive-maybe Unser

could go wreck the cabin for him, in exchange for room and board.

Clay wouldn't have to lift a finger. Disaster notwithstanding, it was turning out to

be a pretty good day for the MC Prez.


	11. Chapter 11

Tara knew that a tattooed biker would be her downfall-it was

something she had been aware of since she was roughly

seventeen years old.

But never in a million years did she picture it ending up like this,

something, she thought wryly, you could add to the growing list

of Things Tara Knowles Was Wrong About.

Her day so far had been incredible-there had been an outbreak of

some kind, a possible pandemic, she'd called several deaths, had been

pushed around, attacked, almost bitten, and generally harassed, but

she'd taken it all in stride the best she could, keeping it together for the

most part, putting on her tough girl face and dealing with it.

But one look at her Old Man and she lost it.

Became an absolute quivering damsel-in-distress mess.

Jax was exasperated-they didn't have time for this-but he understood,

stepping inside her office and hurriedly jamming the flimsy door shut to hold her with

relative protection from the bedlam that currently was St. Thomas.

He cupped the base of her neck and kissed her roughly, taking her by surprise.

"I know, okay? But you have to get it together. We have to get out of here."

This, at least had an effect on Tara.

"Where are we going? Where are the boys?"

She was talking, which was an improvement. Now to get her walking…

"The clubhouse. Lockdown." Then, answering her second and arguably more

important question to the best of his abilities, "Ma's got 'em Tig went to get her, Tar.

They're probably already there, waiting on us-let's go."

Tara snapped out of it at the mention of her boys possibly at the clubhouse,

waiting on their Mama to get back, safe and sound, and flung the door open,

going straight for the stairs, taking them two at a time practically,

Jax hurring to catch up until they came upon the slouching man.

Then she faltered, if only for a moment.

"What?" Jax asked, and she snapped out of it, and got moving again.

"What's wrong?" Tara cleared her throat, obviously not wanting to answer him.

"That man attacked me on the way to my office."

Jax was seething-was this a joke? He would kill him.

"He tried to bite me."

Everything came to a standstill.

"Don't worry, he didn't."

It didn't matter-Jax was still going to kill him.

He halted, and started retracing their steps, wasting precious time on what was,

for all practical purposes, already a dead man.

Thankfully, Doc was having none of that macho revenge fueled nonsense

and yanked on him, one of the only times she's ever taken the lead physically with

Jax, completely reversing their roles from just a moment ago.

"It's over, let's GO." She kept pulling on him relentlessly, and Jax finally realized that they

could spend all day doing this, him taking one step forward and her dragging him two

steps back, until the guy got a second wind and tried his attack again,

this time on the both of them, (and maybe even succeeding-if you doubled

your targets, there was a chance you doubled your success rate.) or the both of

them went sprawling down the staircase.

"Okay." Jax agreed, and they went forward again him taking pains to

be in the lead as they went to the relative safety and mobility promised by his bike.


	12. Chapter 12

Jax had never wished for a cage more in his life.

In just the short time he had been upstairs people inside the

ER had begun to trickle outside, into the parking lot, not all

of them fully coherent or even cognitive.

Most of them not, actually.

They made it to the bike, Tara clinging to his hand for fear

of being seperated, jacket on over her scrubs and purse slung

over her shoulder like a satchel.

Thanks to the leather she was at least a little protected,

although she no doubt looked ridiculous.

More out of habit than anything, Jax stopped at his bike to pull out

the extra helmet-her helmet-and in the time it took him to perform this

simple task, one was upon them, grabbing at the back of his cut.

"Jax, look out!"

Tara yelled, hating how shrill she sounded to her own ears,

like a bimbo in a horror movie, but unable to control that or

anything else. She felt frozen.

It had been a miracle she had been able to even speak.

Thankfully, Jax's reflexes were better than hers at the moment.

Lightning quick, he turned, using the helmet to bash in the front

of the woman's face, the bones rearranging with a sickening

and recognizable crunch before mindlessly thrusting it at Tara,

still gore specked.

Then he removed his own and placed it roughly on her head.

Tara dropped the helmet unceremoniously-she didn't know what else to do with it.

One of them riding without was less than ideal, but then again,

so was risking infection.

God knew what would happen if that blood got in their eyes let

alone their mouth.

Best case scenario, you'd have to worry about Hep C or HIV.

Now though, there seemed to be something even more dangerous

lurking around the corner.

"Hang on!" Jax yelled over the roar of his bike, and they took off like

a shot, directly towards Teller-Morrow Automotive which would

hopefully prove to be the safe haven they needed.


	13. Chapter 13

Opie had to go get Lyla.

He didn't want to, to be quite honest,

but he couldn't see a way around it-if he didn't,

his conscience would eat him alive.

Sometimes he wished he could just be a shitty person

for once, shirk his responsibilities not to mention the vows he made.

That saying 'marry in haste repent at leisure'?

He was repenting now, for sure.

He found the kids at the house, in the living room,

complaining that the cable had gone out, and the power was being

annoyingly unpredictable. He didn't know what to do-he couldn't

get them all on the back of his bike.

There was his truck, he supposed, but they would still really have to

squeeze in. He'd have to leave his bike.

He couldn't load it into the bed alone-even if he could, he was positive

they didn't have the time.

This day was just getting better and better as the early afternoon wore on.

"Alright kids, pack your shit. We're going on a trip."

They were hardly enthused.

"What about Mom?" Piper asked worriedly, and Op sighed, tugging on his beard.

"I'll go pick her up. Where is she, anyway? Why isn't somebody watching you?"

He couldn't help but ask this last question, beginning to become royally pissed.

Kenny shrugged, heading towards his room, already knowing the drill.

Being a SAMCRO kid, you had to.

"She got called into work."

Work. Right.

He was going to throttle her.

"Get packed. Ten minutes."

Ten minutes to kids is like thirty minutes to adults, like it's dog years.

Time is relative to kids-they weren't worried about getting back to the Club

House before the gates needed to be shut: they were worried about

stuffing as many toys into their duffels as humanly possible.

Opie would have to go behind them and grab clothes, throw them into

a bag together and sort it out later.

He'd be lucky if they even remembered their toothbrushes.

Knowing how dire things looked, but not knowing when he would be

back home, he took this time to clean out the fridge, hauling all of the

perishables to the trash-there was nothing worse than coming home to

a house that had sat in the California heat for who knows how long,

with meat and milk spoiling away in the fridgedaire.

While he was out there, he backed the truck out, started it, listening for

sputtering in the engine or misfires-he couldn't afford that right now.

Thankfully, everything was running smoothly.

The bike was in the garage, the truck was running, there was a garbage

bag full of children's clothes thrown into the bed (Opie had everything he

needed already at the Club House, a perk of his current separated status.).

Now all he needed was the kids and they could go.

He tried to move them along, conveying a sense of urgency without

panicking them, but Ellie was already in tears.

Piper was teasing Kenny about needing to bring his security blanket,

one he had slept with for as long as his father could remember…it was chaos.

He couldn't help but think of Donna in all of this.

How had she handled the kids all of those years he was away?

Was he doing the right thing in taking them to TM?

She would no doubt put up a fight were she still around,

have an alternate plan already mapped out.

He couldn't think about that now-he wouldn't.

Scooping up Kenny (Who was getting far too old for such things,

but why argue with the kid? What was it hurting?) and as many bags as he could

carry he made a decision:

It was time to go. No more stalling.

"Alright. Everyone in the truck."

The kids complied while he locked the old house up, and put the bags

where they would fit, shoving them in the foot well.

He needed to get a new truck. Preferably a bigger truck.

But at least it was running.

He would hold off on complaining, as long as they made it to where

they needed to go in one piece.

First drop the kids off, then go get Lyla.

Maybe drive up tonight or tomorrow and check on Pop.

Simple as pie.

Now if only he could convince himself things would be as easy as they sounded.


	14. Chapter 14

Once things go bad, they go bad fast.

And this germ, this pandemic, this what-ever-it-was

did not appear to be slowing down anytime soon.

Whenever there's a disaster such as this,

the institutions fall first-look at St. Thomas.

People either flock to 'Government' buildings,

or they flee from them, with almost no exceptions.

The Hospital was no longer a working medical building of

any kind let alone a safe-zone, or a place of healing:

it was a death trap, filled with dying and regenerating bodies.

To enter it at this point, looking for help or anything else,

would be nothing more than an elaborate form of suicide.

Things were collapsing fast…so was it really a surprise when

the prison went next, the guards opening cells in what was a

horribly misguided attempt at human service before fleeing the building?

What else could they do-leave them trapped like rats in their cells

to starve to death, or worse?

Maybe.

The logic was sound and compassionate but the fact remained

that there were some prisoners who didn't deserve even such a fate,

wasting away into nothing, because it was simply too good for them,

but thankfully for Otto Delaney, he wasn't one of them,

and received his second chance anyway.

He never thought he'd see the outside world again, but here he was.

It almost made sense that now he was out, everything seemed to be ending.

His world had ended the day he lost Luanne, he had tried to end his life

numerous times since then, so why not?

What else could possibly go wrong?

Armed with a makeshift shiv and a boosted warden's car (hotwiring, he learned,

much to his delight, was like riding a bike-you never really lost the knack.) he could

think of nothing else he'd like to do than head home.

Back to the only family he had left, for better or worse.

Back to his MC.


	15. Chapter 15

Opie didn't want to leave the clubhouse once he had

dropped the kids (and their shit) off.

It was entirely too tempting to stay put, have a few drinks,

talk things out with his brothers, hatch a plan.

However, he knew that he had an obligation to the woman he

so hastily married.

He couldn't just leave her hanging, if for no other reason that

Piper would be without a mother.

Opie was a lot of things, but he was not heartless.

After seeing his kids go through it with Donna, he would never

begrudge a child their mom.

So off he went, to the studio she had apparently left for this morning,

foolishly leaving the children to fend for themselves.

How could she be so stupid?

Today of all days?

He had other things he could be doing, he thought crankily as he pulled into

the porn lot, breezing right past what would normally be a paltry makeshift security

checkpoint which no one was manning, setting off mental alarms.

Things like retrieving his Harley, although he'd supposed he was grateful

for the confinement of his old rustbucket.

Opie stepped inside and found out immediately that the studio had been over-run.

Heartbreakingly, he found Lyla by the front door.

She was, in fact, one of the first things he saw.

Gnawing on one of Georgie's goons, she turned her hideously dead

eyes in his direction, but kept on chewing, leaving Opie be, too lazy and stupid

to pursue new prey while she had plenty to eat in front of her.

He knew he should do something, put her out of her misery, but he just couldn't.

He looked at his second wife, on her knees with all hope of life gone out of her face,

and all he saw was Donna, her body shattered in the aftermath of Tig's botched attack.

It always seemed to come back to Trager he thought bitterly,

and swallowed that thought (and a considerable amount of bile) back, turning to leave.

There was no reason to stay now that he knew Lyla was beyond help.

There was blood everywhere, all over the back of the entrance door, he found distastefully.

And, among the mess he found a script sheet, tacked to the door.

One side depicting an anal scene, he rapidly flipped it over, finding a messy scrawl

explaining that Georgie'd had girls shipped in over the border,

who brought it with them from Mexico.

Chaos had ensued.

An ambulance was called but not allowed into the building.

Some people escaped, and went home or elsewhere, some didn't.

Who knows how many were attacked?

This was ground zero, Opie realized with mounting horror.

He had to get out. He had to tell his brothers.


	16. Chapter 16

Bobby paused, coffee cup poised halfway to his mouth,

unknowingly mirroring Gemma's earlier action-he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"The outbreak started at the porn studio?"

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his free hand.

"The business has really gone to shit since Luanne died, you know it?"

Opie ignored this. Pointedly.

"What the hell am I supposed to tell Piper?"

he asked rhetorically, knowing none of them had the answer anymore than he did.

"Lie, brother." Juice advised, surprising him. "Lie your ass off."

"But-" Was that the right thing to do?

WAS there a right thing to do?

"You went to the studio. She wasn't there. Maybe she got away."

Juice knew he was right-God knew they'd lied about bigger things to people.

God knew he'd personally been doing his share of lying lately, anyway.

He would tell the kid the fabricated story himself if it meant he wouldn't

have to stomach the thought of being around a child suffering from that much grief.

Maybe when things were better, they could tell him the truth.

If they ever got better, that is.

They were mulling this over when Gemma strode in, hands full with her grandchildren,

Tig coming in behind her and heading straight for the bar.

One of the Prospects was hanging around and he was thankful for that at least.

"Go unload Gem's car, set everything up in a spare room. Put the hatboxes in the chapel."

There was a pause while the Prospect stared at him, blankly, clearly shocked at being

trusted with something involving the President's Old Lady.

This was big.

"What the fuck are you looking at?" Tig snapped. "Go."

He went, and Tig immediately set out to search for another bottle as

Gemma got the babies situated, putting Abel and Thomas in the hands of the

Winstons kids, and beginning to wrangle abled-bodied men to drag out cots,

extra bedding, things they'd need sooner than later-there was a lot that

needed to be done. She'd better get started.

"Prospect, come help us when you're done."

"Yes Ma'am."

Gemma hated that 'Ma'am' shit. It made her feel old.

"And be careful with my bird!"

She called out as an afterthought, startling the kid.

It was going to be a long day.

Outside, the first 'Walker' as they'd come to be called approached

the gates, throwing everyone into a panic as they leaped into action,

firing round after round into the thing, hopefully not drawing more.

They'd just have to wait and see.


	17. Chapter 17

Jax and Tara were back, safe and sound, relieved to be in sight

of their boys thankful now, more than ever for the playground equipment,

even if Abel was the only one of their two old enough to use it.

Even then, just barely.

Bobby had gotten ahold of Precious (after two hours of trying her on his cell,

he miraculously caught a signal and got through, one bright spot in the day) both his ex-wife,

and their kids were hightailing it towards Canada.

They'd try to stay in contact as much as possible, try to keep him updated

on their safety, but there were no promises, Bobby Elvis knew.

Not in this world, especially not now.

And he was heartbroken, if the "Always On My Mind" playing in a constant loop

from the jukebox accounted for anything.

It was running everyone up the wall, but they refrained from saying anything.

Having their loved ones close by was doing a lot to help them keep their tollerance up.

Happy didn't have his, not yet, but he was working on it.

Currently, Hap was rummaging around in the office, searching for a set of keys to a

reliable car on the lot, loathe to take the van-God knew, something could arise and

they might need it. He would put himself in danger of breaking down before leaving his

brothers without. They had kids to worry about.

Tig was in the office chair, Gemma's usual roost, happily on his way to soused, 'helping Happy look'.

Really he was just pissing him off: Tigger needed to get his act together.

"Okay, you're going to get your mom. But what about the girls?"

Hap paused in his search at this-"What girls?" Tig snorted at the idea of him not knowing

which ones he was referring to, like they didn't occupy practically his every waking moment

outside of the club. "The ones always followin' you around. Your harem."

Tig leered and Happy glared at him, but more out of obligation than anything-harem was a

remarkably astute term for his crazy, close knit women.

He was actually surprised they hadn't thought of it first.

"They're further down south." Thank God.

"You ain't gonna go get 'em?" Hap shook his head.

"Maybe if things get worse. They don't need no rescuin'. Tough broads."

Tig shook his head at the 'Tacoma Killers' faith in three young bitches, but he had to

hand it to them-since they'd stormed into this life with thier take-no-prisoners attitude,

his brother had begun to live up to his other moniker: he was happy.

Happier than Tig had ever seen him be, anyhow.

"Alright." Happy sighed five minutes later, straightening, holding the keys to a BMW

with a bum tire-it had been changed days ago, but the owner, a rich asshole lawyer,

had yet to deign himself to come pick the fuckin' thing up.

At this point, it was up in the air if he would come at all, or if he would be allowed into

the gates if he did. It was doubtful, but then again, it didn't matter.

He'd take the Beemer, go get his Ma, and be back by sundown.

He'd worry about his girls if they didn't show up in a few days, charging the gates.

Until then, one thing at a time.

"Hold down the fort, brother."

He told Tig uselessly before taking off.

He either would or he wouldn't, it wasn't up to anyone but Trager.

Inside, Bobby set about baking, muttering about asthma medicine, worrying.

But first he took the time to change records-poor old Elvis's crooning track was beginning to skip.

It was a relief to everyone within earshot, but it was short-lived as Bird On A Wire picked up in its place.

One thing at a time.


	18. Chapter 18

They tried for hours to get something on the radio or TV other than

an emergency broadcast system to no avail.

It was just the same tired message replayed a hundred times,

advising people to stay indoors, and avoid contact with anyone who has been 'infected'.

Tara snorts at this, loudly, and Gemma sidles up to her.

"How you holdin' up?" Tara shrugs.

"I'm okay. It's just all so surreal, you know? All those people…" she trails off,

lost in her own reverie, and actually screams as the front door bangs open,

the heavy wood making a reverberating noise as it hit the wall and bounced back,

being stopped by a big beefy hand. Clay. And Wayne.

Gemma visibly sags with relief before rushing over to her husband and friend,

throwing her arms around him, forgetting about Tara completely.

As an old lady, she understood.

If that had been Jax out there, unable to be reached, she would have no doubt

already died of a cornerary by now. They were having their little powwow when Tig came

up from the bottom of his current bottle, weaving around, and telling Tara

all about his daughters, the Awns.

He hoped they were okay, he told her, not like that poor doll this morning.

He told her this and then began to cry, leaning heavily on the poor harried Doc,

but she bore his weight as well as she could, not knowing what else to do.

Thankfully, Chibs made his way over, taking Tig and getting him laid down on a cot

where he immediately passed out. Jeez, it was always something.

"Sorry 'bout tha' love." Chibs told her in passing, and she nodded, only vaguely

worried at the SAA'S response-it'd been a long day for everyone.

And it was about to get even longer, judging by the look on Jax's face as he entered

right behind his Step-Father, whistling shrilly to gather everyone's attention.

"Hap's on his way back, and then the gates are getting shut for the night.

We'll have guards on hand at all times-no one leaves this building unattended, understand?"

There were nods all around from the loved ones and hangarounds that had found their

way into this dubious safe house, and Clay shot him a scathing look-since

when had he been fuckin' in charge?

He was going to have to have a talk with that boy. Preferably a long one.

Gemma, sensing the tension, starts talking to him a mile a minute about supplies, and food, and rations.

He doesn't listen to her, not exactly, but he focuses his attention her direction,

taking some of the heat off of Jackson, at least for the moment.

Because of all of this commotion, no one noticed when Juice used the side entrance

to slip out and go for a ride to see his 'friends' in Charming PD.

His prepaid wasn't working, and even in the midst of these troubled times,

knowing about the total shut down Charming at large was facing,

he was scared about what would happen if he wasn't available to check in.

Juan Ortiz knew that he had dug himself into a nice little hole,

but he was only now beginning to realize just how deep it was.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: This one's a tad mellowdramatic because I can't separate myself from the situation enough to write it any other way.**

****xx

Juan Carlos Ortiz was fucked, plain and simple.

Roosevelt wasn't around once he'd arrived at the jail.

No one was, actually, save for what looked to be a few random shambling prisoners,

and as the night had fallen, the world seemed to go right along with it.

The gates at Teller-Morrow had been closed for the night, he knew. There was no going back.

He was a rat-he had shot Miles over cocaine days ago in a scuffle,

something that, for right now anyway, seemed forgotten.

No one had even mentioned the drugs.

Bigger things were afoot, End-Of-Days big, but he knew it would resurface eventually.

Things had a way of doing that, didn't they? Especially lately.

Then he would be without protection.

What would he have, really?

His bike, maybe, which he hadn't driven out here, even knowing it would be his

last chance to drive the Harley he loved so much. He'd brought the tow truck,

something else for them to be pissed about, in time, when they needed it and found it gone.

He wouldn't have his cut, which was his reason for getting out of bed in the morning.

He would have his shitty house which was just barely one step up from the shitty

apartment he had lived in for a few months with his last girlfriend, but it wasn't a home-was,

in fact, no where near being one, now or ever.

He had traded his home and safe haven in for racial anomity, something that now

didn't seem all that important. Had it ever been?

Would his brothers really shun him over a rule so out-dated, and quite frankly, fucking stupid?

He didn't know.

That was the hell of it; even now, he had no idea.

Juice had never considered himself an overly religious person, but here he found himself,

rosary in hand on a dusty backroad that particular night.

He didn't think he could live with himself any longer, and what was more,

he didn't think he even wanted to try.

Not knowing how things would end up was eating him alive inside.

He took his leather off, staring at his Men Of Mayhem patch, so recently acquired and sewed-on,

and willed himself not to cry-he knew what he had to do. Enough was enough.

He didn't deserve shelter, or family, or his MC.

He should have just stayed in Queens.

Even knowing how things would end up though, he knew he would have schlepped his sorry

ass down to Charming to enjoy his brief time with his brothers.

Even if it always brought him to this place, standing in a tree with a metal chain

wrapped around his neck. He really was sorry that it had come to this.

But sometimes, he reflected, sorry just wasn't enough.


	20. Chapter 20

Back at the clubhouse, gaurds had been set, both evenly dispersed

around the gates and a few camped out on the roof for good measure.

Everyone'd had dinner and copious ammounts of coffee before being sent out for

their first shift, rendering them wired and alert.

Everyone else was inside, either resting up for their turn or engaged in other,

less savory, activities.

Jax was cleaning guns, Clay and Gemma had retreated to a dorm doing who

knows what, something Jax would rather not dwell on.

Tara was off somewhere pacing while her boys slept on peacefully.

Such little people, she reflected, brought into this world just in time to see it all go to shit.

By eleven, long past the time Happy (and his mother, safely enclosed in the front seat of the BMW,

by far the nicest car she had ever ridden in during her lifetime, something she mentioned casually to

her son which thrilled Happy.) had rolled back onto the lot and the gates had been

locked-twice-the alarm had been raised on Juice.

The jig was up. He was officially marked as missing, and Church had to be called yet again

before this day could be marked as over.

There was arguing, and voting, and eventually, it was decided that Chibs

and Tig (who had sobered considerably) would be allowed to go look for him,

provided they took a cage, guns, and returned quickly.

It was clear Chibs would be going with or without approval, so it was easier to just go

along with everything and get this over with.

They were fucking up the guard scheduale sitting her arguing about it.

Clay was not happy with any of this, but when was he happy with anything?

Juice was a brother, and he was potentially in danger-this had to be handled.

While they were gone, Jax had Tara draw him a rough map of the hospital, what

basically amounted to blue prints, and he began laying plans for the following day.

If people were going to stay here, they would no doubt need access to different

medications-it couldn't hurt to stock up.

He'd have to ask Juice about his weed shop if and when they tracked him down, too.

As far as Jackson Teller knew, they were in this for the long run.

Pot would probably not be a bad thing to have on hand, especially since it took the

edge off without rendering you incompitent. That was something he was sure they'd need

in the following days. They were pretty well stocked on booze and food, so he'd worry

about that another day. He should proabably be going over all of this with his Prez and not

his Old Lady, but what the hell, right? Jax knew that Clay was on his way out, one way or another.

He might as well get used to making the big decisions single-handedly,

something he'd been doing off and on for months now.

Clay would adjust. They all would, mostly because they had no other choice.

Elsewhere, the branch had snapped, granting Juice a brief reprieve, not to mention a

new outlook on his outlaw life.

His brothers would understand, or they wouldn't, but it wasn't worth killing himself over,

he was pretty sure. Those long agonizing seconds spent dangling from his neck had put

everything in perspective: it was time to come clean.

He'd straighten everything out, or else, hide the evidence and hope the cops had gone

the way of so many others and were no longer technically living to hassle him.

He knew it was wrong to be so relieved to be alive and still wish death for another,

but there it was. He'd come back later, clean up the chain.

Right now he had his brothers to contend with.


	21. Chapter 21

Tig was nonplussed by Juice's haggard appearance,

the dust on his clothes, the already-purpling bruises on his neck.

"You clotheslined yourself?"

He laughed as Chibs tried to keep him still long enough to inspect

the wounds, yanking at his hoodie.

"You jackass!"

Juice shrugged this off, both Chib's hands and Tig's name calling.

"Wha' were you doin' out here?"

"I told you-I had to take a piss-"

"No, out here, Juicey-boy."

Chibs made sure to add emphasis this time and Ortiz couldn't pretend to misunderstand.

"Took a drive-had to clear my head."

Chibs didn't respond.

There had been a lot of this from Juice lately…something was up.

Now, though, they didn't have time to stand around grabassing,

they had to get back before their VP lost his shit on them.

"We needed you at the clubhouse. We're on lockdown, or had you forgotten?"

Chibs scolded, his accent coming out heavier than ever, marking him clearly upset.

"Drive the truck, idiot." Tig told him, still laughing.

"We're heading back."

Juice didn't argue, just climbed up into the cab and started the engine.

Juice also didn't remove his hood, not even once he was on the open road,

Chibs couldn't help but notice as he glanced into his rearview at the young man.

He'd have to keep a closer eye on that boy.


	22. Chapter 22

The morning dawned bright and early for Opie, who couldn't stand to be there

once Piper woke up. He recalled vividly his childrens reaction to Donna's death

and he did not want to let something damning slip and have to repeat that experience.

He didn't trust himself around the kids-he needed to get out.

He'd drive up while it was still early, go see his Pop.

Hopefully he could make it up there and back before anyone even awoke-the sun was

barely even up.

Then Piney would be around, and even if he did nothing but sit around drinking tequila

and sucking up oxygen, Opie would feel better about the entire messy situation.

But first, he had to stop at the gates and lie shamelessly to a Prospect. Opie took advantage

of his seniority and the trust the new kid laid in his elders to tell him that Clay was sending him out.

What was this guy really going to do, shamble into the clubhouse and wake the Prez, double check Op's

walking orders? He didn't think so.

And even if he did, it was a chance he was willing to take-there were too many people

around to simply knock him out, and his only other option was to bribe the kid.

However, he had a sneaking suspicion that money wasn't going to be worth too much once this all blew over.

Ammunition would be the new currency, no doubt.

Thankfully, no problems arised, and this green around the gils prospect lived to fight another day, for now.

Opie wasted no time heading up to the cabin, taking care to stay alert and keep his

truck towards the center of the road in the stretches that were surrounded by untouched woods,

which were plenty.

Truth be told, he was spooking himself-he kept picturing something shambling out of

the woods in front of his truck, causing him to wreck it.

Something like Lyla.

Or maybe his truck would break down and _then_ they would come.

Alone on a dusty stretch of road without even the company of talk

radio (which he hated, but desperate times called for desperate measures.) his mind played an

endless loop of horror show scenarios.

He knew he was being ridiculous, but that didn't help him to shake it.

Remember, this was only the second day of the apocolypse and so much had happened already.

He had to stay alert.

He snorted at himself, and his line of scattered thoughts-relaxed but alert.

Sure, no problem.

He'd just be a walking (driving) paradox. No big deal.

Alone, halfway out to the cabin, he was blissfully unaware of what he was walking into,

or the fact that back home, Clay had woken up early to do some of his own bidding, dragging

Cheif Wayne right along with him. Cheif Wayne who was this very moment, climbing into his

beat up Crown Vic and headed up to the cabin his own self.

Time to do some damage control.

Thankfully, he'd miss Opie by a country mile, so he'd keep his life, although, knowing what

hell was about to rain upon Charming in the form of a scorned Son with no way to warn anyone,

he almost wished he hadn't.


	23. Chapter 23

Wayne hated this.

Absolutely hated it.

But what other choice did he have, really?

He could turn his back on Clay (and therefore Gemma, something

he couldn't even contemplate) and live for maybe another week.

He'd go back home and if the things overrunning Charming didn't come for him,

Morrow would, shooting Wayne in the place he'd turned, no doubt.

He was over a barrel, as the saying went, and Clay was making damn sure to keep

him there, although he supposed his task could be worse.

It wouldn't be favorable, driving up to a days dead body that had been exposed to the

elements when the cabin no doubt lost power when everything else had, but at least he

didn't have to actually kill anyone.

This time, anyhow.

Next time, who knew?

It was slowly occuring to Wayne that even if doing Clay's bidding meant he'd live,

it probably wasn't worth it.

Della was gone, and the cancer would eventually get him anyway.

Why not just lie down and take a bullet?

Was this quality of life really even worth it?

Unser was so lost in his reverie that he scarsely noticed the old pick up flying past

him in the other lane, headed towards Charming, Clay's fate behind the wheel.

Back in town, both the President and the VP were having words with their women.

Tara didn't want Jax to go back to the hospital, supplies be damned, and it took an

hour-time they didn't have-to talk her down from this point, only to hatch the argument

that if anyone would be going, it should be her.

She had the keys to the supply closets, knew the inventory and the layout of the building.

"Over my dead body." Jax snarled and Tara nodded furiously at him, her hair still in

knots from sleeping.

"It will be, Jax! Let me go with you."

He was shaking his head 'no' at her before her sentence even began properly.

"One of us has to stay here. With the boys."

He added pointedly and Tara rolled her eyes at him in disgust.

"Don't play that card, Jackson. You know that I'm right, you know-"

She was abruptly cut off by screaming elsewhere in the clubhouse,

this time coming from her Mother In Law, followed by a slamming door as she headed out,

Clay bellowing in hot pursuit. "Gemma, get your ass back here, we aren't done yet!"

He was screaming, and Tara stared after them, silent and shocked.

Was this her and Jax in twenty years? It was possible.

"The hell we aren't, Clay!" Gemma answered back and gunned her Caddy for the front gate.

The poor prospects never stood a chance.

They were slightly more afraid of Gem than they were of Clay, and they didn't know

her well enough to know if she'd drive through the gate or not if they tried to foil her plan of

leaving, so they cranked it open.

Gemma would never risk damaging the gate under these circumstances and leave them

vulnerable-her Grandbabies were in there for Christ's sake-but she'd let them think what they wanted,

as long as she got to leave, even if Clay did hop onto his Harley and follow her out.


	24. Chapter 24

It was a mistake to tell Gemma about Piney, Clay knew, but he did it anyway.

He thought if he got her on board then maybe things would go easier with Wayne-she could grease the

wheels, so to speak. Instead, she'd gotten hysterical and locked herself in the bathroom,

something he'd only known her to do once or twice in the entire span of their marriage.

He hadn't even had time to bring Wayne up, what with spinning his tale, telling her that there

was an altercation, that Piney drew first before she was gone.

He went and spoke to Wayne himself, sending him out before going back in after her where she

had emerged from the washroom and was furiously throwing clothes into her suitcase,

not bothering to fold them, or even remove the hangers.

She was leaving.

She couldn't look at Clay, not for another second, worried about what she might do, what she might say.

Her marriage was hanging on by a thread and this stupid old man who she had told not to meddle just might

be the breaking point.

There was a caravan of fuckery that early morning, Clay reflected as he roared out after Gemma,

knowing exactly where she was going: home.

Even with a head start, Clay slammed into the driveway mere seconds after his old lady, already running his

mouth as he followed her into the side door.

"Gemma-"

"NO." Gemma yelled, startling him into silence.

"I will keep your secrets, Clay. I will go along with whatever story you cook up.

But you have to leave. Leave my house, and _leave my family alone, you son of a bitch_."

Her voice may have been cracking on every word, raw with emotion but the handgun she'd pulled out of her purse

was just enough to distract from this, what she felt was her emotional weakness.

Clay had broken her heart, and now she would protect herself and those she loved from any further damage

the only way she knew how. The two warning shots, which swung wide of Clay and ruined her beautiful

walls, puffing plaster dust out of the new bullet holes did nothing to stop Clay, and soon he was upon her,

taking matters into his old hands. Gemma got one good hit in and then everything went black.

xx

Completely sobered by her anger, Tara relented: Jax could go.

She trusted him to come back to her.

Rendered nearly useless with guilt over their fighting, an emotion not at all new to him, he sent Tig and Juice.

Juice was going out of something like punishment for disappearing, Tig because they couldn't let him sit

still for any significant amount of time without him going squirrelly.

It was best to be proactive.

"Take stumpy." He tacked on for good measure and they nodded, hauling Chucky out with them by his shirt collar.

So when Otto showed up, in a wardens car (oh, the irony), laying on the horn Jax was one of the only patched

men around to see it. Even though he couldn't believe his eyes, he was there to see it.


	25. Chapter 25

Juice and Chibs had problems.

Major problems.

It wasn't enough that they'd had to drag along old Chuckster,

but now they had to navigate the hospital which was full of the dead,

walking and not. The smell was horrendous even after this short amount of time.

"What're we gonna do?"

Juice wondered, peeking around a corner to check out the supply

closet-it was open, but it was also surrounded.

"Well," Chibs began wearily, but before he could finish his sentence,

Chucky interrupted. "I can distract 'em. Just like the old days."

The 'old days' being pre-zombie, Juice presumed.

"An' if runnin' an' screamin' don't work?" Chibs asked sardonically.

"You could be eaten."

Chucky nodded. "I accept that."

"We're countin' on you, Chucky boy."

"I accept that, too. I'll meet you by the van."

Surprised almost to the point of shock, they hesitated before taking off

after the man, who was screaming about zombies eating his hands, taking his fingers.

Dude was _warped_.

Their hesitation wasn't the best thing they could have had happen,

but it wasn't enough to throw things completely off, Juice taking off recklessly towards

the supply closet, shooting off the handle without even bothering to check the lock,

Chibs covering him as he charged in and began aimlessly sweeping things into the

empty duffel he had been clutching, erring more towards the small stash of pain pills,

and the blister packets of penicillin-those they would definitely need at one point or another.

He fleetingly hoped that no one was allergic to the stuff-his Ma had been, back in Queens-but that

was a problem for another day.

Right now, they had to _go_.


	26. Chapter 26

Gemma couldn't even speak properly.

Her words were slurred, and if she moved her mouth too much,

the skin on her lips would split open all over again and bleed.

She didn't need this.

She needed to sit at her kitchen table and smoke her pot in peace.

Clay had been gone for hours when she heard the car pulling into the drive-she

didn't make a move to answer it.

The back door was unlocked, whoever it was could let themselves in.

Clay had left her gun alone after slinging it across the room to take his fists to her face.

She didn't even want to think about what she looked like, not that it wasn't the least of

her worries at that point. Wayne let himself into her former home, now a mausoleum to

her second failed marriage quietly, sitting down at the table with Gem.

"Jesus...what happened?"

Gemma took the time to blow her smoke out in a big puff before snarling the best she could.

"I flew my broomstick into a brick wall. You run into any of those things on the way over here?"

"It was Clay, wasn't it?" Unser asks, even though he already knows.

Of course he knows-who else could do this to her? Or any woman?

"Clay did this to you."

It was a statement this time, brokering no response, so she thankfully let it slide.

It was rhetorical anyway.

"I'll kill him."

This was also a statement of fact, spoken with no infliction whatsoever, and Gem knew he meant it.

"If he's gonna die, Wayne...it's gotta be at the hands of a SON. You know that."

Unser nods slowly. He knew this of course-what was he, a retired sherriff going to do, anyway?

Go in guns blazing and take out the President of an MC?

He'd get gunned down himself, and someone needed to hang around and take care of Gemma,

the best she would let them. "Okay." He sighs out finally.

"Let's get you cleaned up, then we'll take you to the clubhouse-"

"No." Gemma was vehement on this, yanking her arm away where he had

grabbed to help her up, flinching. He had never seen her flinch before.

"I'm not-"

"Gemma. If this is going to happen, Jax needs you."

He hesitates before he breaks out the big guns, showing how big his heart is.

He hates to do this, but he knows he doesn't have much of a choice.

"Your Grandsons need you."

Gemma sighed, a weary, defeated sound.

"Fuck you, Wayne."

She protested feebly, but it got her to her feet, and she began making her way to the

master bedroom, moving at markedly a slower clip than normal.

It broke his heart, but he was careful to keep this out of his face and body language.

No matter what the circumstance, Gemma would not tolerate pity, and Wayne respected that.

xx

"SHIT, Gemma, what the hell happened to you?"

Tara was leaping up from her perch on the picnic table before the older woman

had even made it all the way out of the car.

Gemma quirked an eyebrow behind her over-sized shades, not at all pleased that her sunglasses

and cadet hat weren't doing anything to help her current predicament.

She wasn't getting into it now-the last thing she wanted to do was have a heart-to-heart with her

sons Old Lady, the one who would most likely usurp her from her throne as the reigning Queen Of Charming soon.

The best defense, Gemma knew, was a good offense, so keeping her eyebrow quirked, she removed

her sunglasses, studiously ignoring the Doc's flinch at her first full look at Gemma's face (it was probably going

to scar, she should get used to this as quickly as possible.) and gave her a pointed once over.

"Me? What the hell happened to YOU?"

Tara looked confused.

"Who the hell packs velour for an apocalypse?"

Doc looked down at her zippered sweatshirt self-consciously, aware of what Gemma was doing,

but unable to keep herself from reacting to it.

"This is the only kind of sweatshirt I have-"

"Then honey, you have bigger problems than me to worry about."

Pleased with this as her parting line, Gemma strode passed her and into the Clubhouse,

leaving a slack-jawed Tara in her wake.


	27. Chapter 27

Opie was speeding back to his home in, Charming, ready for battle.  
He knew that what he was going into could full well orphan his children,  
and he wanted one last bike ride, should this be the case.  
Thoughts of the trucks practical use and even the end of the world had been  
pushed to the very back corners of his mind, making way for the vengeance that  
was flooding through him.  
Clay had killed his Dad, the man who had taught him how to ride a bike and later  
fix a Harley, the only family he had left.  
Clay had to die. Brutally.  
At the hands of a Son.

Unaware that his life would be ending at any moment,  
Clay was in the office of Teller-Morrow, his wifes usual domain,  
but now where he would be sleeping. He couldn't stay in that clubhouse, not with  
the scratches on his face, and so many people around asking questions.  
No big deal-Piney, had some tequila shoved into one of the bottom drawers of the filing cabinets.  
He'd hunt it down and have a drink or two to relax.  
It wasn't like the old man would be needing it now, anyway.  
Wayne was on his way up there, he was pretty sure, to clean up yet another one  
of Clay's messes, and he would do just fine hiding out in the office with a pillow and blanket,  
stretched out across the couch, hiding out until this all blew over.  
Gemma may have gotten a head start into the clubhouse, leaving a surprised Tara in her dust,  
but that was a situation the Doc hoped to remedy, hauling ass to get to Jackson before her  
Mother-In-Law could.  
He needed to be warned before he saw his Mom, needed to brace himself so he didn't go  
completely off the deep end.  
She found him in the chapel, bursting in even though she technically had no right to do so,  
standing in front of him, commanding his attention as Gemma walked in behind her,  
heels clicking across the floor, and waving a Prospect out of the room, shutting the doors behind him.  
Once he caught sight of her, the woman who had raised him beat to hell and back,  
none of the nonsense Tara was speaking, trying to soothe him, made any bit of difference.  
Jax was making his way across the parkinglot like a bat out of hell, Tara dragging along behind him,  
digging her heels in, hanging onto his arm-anything to slow him down as he fell in step behind Opie  
who had just roared into the picture, not even stopping to park his bike in the lineup properly,  
slamming it into park outside of the office.

He knew without asking that his stepfather was behind this, which explained his lurking by  
the file cabinets. All he wanted to know before he beat the shit out of him was _why_.  
Jax couldn't fathom ever laying a hand on Tara, even when she did bug the shit out of him,  
even right that moment, when she was interfering in what he could passibly refer to as 'Club business' he  
would never dream of hurting her.  
Pushing her out of the way, protectively behind his own stocky body once they had all pushed into the office  
and he saw that his oldest friend was brandishing a gun?  
That was a different story, he soon discovered, shoving her with enough force that she stumbled away,  
out of the line of fire. Jax had a split second to regret having to do such a thing, but it was either handle his  
Old Lady more roughly than he'd like, or have her get shot.  
He wasn't having her get shot, now or ever.  
They'd been through too much shit, were still going through too much shit, to have it end that way.  
"Op," he began, praying she would stay put, cowering behind the desk, knowing that the die had  
been cast and now all he could do was hope they all got out of this in one piece-he couldn't beat Clay's  
ass if he was dead. Clay seemed to realize his precarious state, and he moved quickly, one hand shooting  
out to grab Tara by her wrist and haul her in front of him, using her as a human shield, showcasing just how  
low he had sunk-he was truly irredemable now.  
"You don't want to do this."  
Opie barely even flinched at the sound of Jax's voice, merely leveling the gun in the center of  
his Presidents chest, just above where Tara was cowering.  
His President who had his spare hand up, eyes wide.  
"Jax is right." Clay began, watching the barrel quiver as Opies hands visibly shook.  
"You don't want to do this, Son."  
Had Clay kept his mouth shut and remained pliable, things may have ended differently for him-who knew?  
But Clay called him 'Son' and something in Opie snapped-he wasn't anyones Son, not anymore, thanks to the  
fucker in front of him.  
Opie thought about crying but before the emotion could really take hold, he yanked Tara away  
from the bastard who had been like a second father to him.  
And then he pulled the trigger.


	28. Chapter 28

Tara broke her hand in three places bracing herself on the way down.  
Clay landing on top of her, bleeding and gasping, still alive but dead weight didn't  
help the situation any.

The swelling was immediate, already turning a purplish color as Jax hauled Clay  
off of her and pulled her up to press her face against his chest as he checked her over-her  
hand was fucked, but was there anything else wrong with her?  
She was okay, she assured Jax, hand dangling limply.  
She was fine.  
It wasn't her dominate hand and she wouldn't be doing surgery anytime soon.  
Things could have been worse.

Her hand may have been broken, but she still felt she had an obligation as a  
healer (As she thought of herself) to help Clay in any way possible while Jax hauled Opie  
out of the office and into the harsh sunlight.  
The gunshots had brought a good majority of their brothers outside,  
and Op was passed off to them a crying mess.

As VP he had bigger problems right now.  
Problems like cooking up a story about how such a thing had happened without  
incriminating Opie any further.  
If anyone knew the truth they would take after him with Outlaw justice,  
and Jax wanted, at the very least, a chance to find out just what the hell had happened to  
devastate the big bear of a man so much.  
Surely all of this wasn't over Gemma-he was almost positive that Opie hadn't even  
crossed paths with the woman leaned against the club house doorway, hand on her hip in  
the patented Gemma way of standing, looking at Jax long and hard before going back in behind Tig,  
who was shephearding everyone back in at Jax's request taking care to shut the door behind them.

He and Tara would handle this as best they could using a spare first aid kit that  
Tara had hidden in with Piney's dusty tequila, and figure the rest out later.  
He didn't know what else to do-it wasn't like the hospital or calling for an EMS was  
a viable option. The only person whose reaction had worried him was his Mother's and she  
hadn't asked any questions of him, having a pretty good idea of the events that transpired  
and obviously okay with them.  
Jax was honestly more worried about his Old Lady's hand than Clay bleeding out-they could  
apply pressure to the wounds, no problem, and whatever was going to happen would happen  
but who the fuck would reset Tara's broken bones?  
Would she just be hobbled for the rest of her life?  
Jax felt like collapsing under the weight of his guilt, but was able to push it aside long enough  
to kneel next to Doc, who was rummaging in the filing cabinet for some indiscernable reason.  
"What can I do?" Jax asked, hating how weak his voice sounded when he needed to be strong for her.  
_"Tell me what to do, Tara."_  
Ignoring Clay entirely, who was beginning to make an alarming whistling noise with every breath,  
Jax took the time to push her bangs back, kiss her forehead.  
"I'm so fuckin' sorry, darlin'."  
This almost broke Tara.  
This was her Jax, making an appearance which was getting more and more rare.  
The Jax who was tender and would do anything for his family.  
For her.  
He was hers, unquestionably, just as she was his.  
Tara held up the first aid kit with her working hand, gesturing feebly.  
"Open this. There's a syringe in there, get it."  
Jax complied, fumbling in his urgency, hands shaking.  
He has the safety cap off of the needle portion, aware that they're going to need it,  
not knowing why, before Tara stills him.

"That's a blood thinner. If you give it to Clay, he'll bleed out, fast.  
He won't come back from this, Jax. We can be free."  
Tara watched the light dawn in his eyes as he grasped the implications-Jax didn't  
bother asking how or why she had smuggled this from St Thomas, or wherever the hell.  
He was just glad that she had.  
Nodding, he set the needle aside and pulled out his KA-BAR, hauling Clay up by his vest,  
elevating his wounds momentarily, which is the last thing you should do with a trauma victim,  
but it didn't matter now.

Jax wanted to him to see what was coming next, as he held him with one hand and used  
his knife to remove the patches the old man had been so proud of in life, the patches that had  
given him such leeway with his brothers.  
The First 9 patch came first, with Jax seething, talking through his teeth.  
"That's for my Father."  
The President patch came next.  
"And that's for my club."  
He felt vindicated in this-the shot would be for Tara.  
His whole world.  
Redwood/Original could stay-he wanted this done and over with, before the blood could even  
have a chance of growing tacky on his hands and the surrounding floor.  
"Son..." Clay choked out,  
"You take those, you might as well kill me."  
As if he hadn't heard their exchange about the blood thinner, and hell maybe he hadn't.  
Who knew?  
Most likely though, he was in denial, thinking Jax would pull back from the brink.

Jax was far beyond such things now.  
"Don't worry, old man. I plan on it."


	29. Chapter 29

There was one last standoff at the club gates between the living and the dead,

drawn by the smell of Clay's blood and death, SAMCRO coming out bloodied

but victorious. Thankfully, none of the blood was their own, or in any of their orifaces.

Undead bodies, now laid to rest were heaped outside of the gates,

but that was a problem for later.

For now they could serve as a barrier for anything else that decided to come

shambling up to their clubhouse.

It may look like the end of the world, Jax thought, but damn if things weren't starting

to finally look up for his club.

They would set Tara's hand, following her careful instructions, sandwhiched in-between

swear words and sharp exhales of pain as she talked them through it.

Jax would concoct a story about Opie mistaking Clay for one of those things on the outside

and accidentally shooting him. Hair trigger.

It was unfortunate, but they were all under a lot of stress, to put it mildly.

Tig took it the hardest of anyone, but he'd bounce back, in time.

They all would, Jax was confident.

Chibs would step up as SAA and he would finally be able to sit at the head of the

table, Opie at his right.

For months afterwords, Opie would wake up in a cold sweat plagued by nightmares

of finding first his wife and then his father gone forever, only to lose his leader at

his own hand. He had freed the club, but that didn't mean jack shit at 3 AM when the

wind was howling and every light in the clubhouse was off to conserve energy.

Not when he was in bed alone, feeling like he'd lost everything.

It was dangerous to think like that, especially with the kids to take care of,

and eventually he'd shake it, but it was taking time.

The emergency broadcasts had picked back up a week or so later, urging people to

stay 'hunkered down'. The CDC was close to a cure.

In six months, civilization would be back on track like nothing had even happened.

Gemma was okay with Clay dying, had dreamed about it more times than she could ever

count-her baby boy was the president. A Teller was running the show again, finally.

Her only problem was that Tara had a part in it, making Clay's death feel too much

like history repeating itself for her to be comfortable.

She'd cornered Tara the night after the disposale of Clay's remains,

Tara smoking the pot for once (it helped with the pain in her hand tremendously

and Juice had been nice enough to set aside a cache large enough to last her for a long while) and Gemma

sauced on cheap vodka, not even the good stuff. Disgraceful.

"_Just what the hell was going through your mind?_"

She hissed out, voice slurring and Tara ground the roach under her heel before standing up,

eye to eye with the former Queen.

"Everything you taught me."

And she turned and walked into the clubhouse, to her man in the chapel at the table,

talking to his brothers, not quite in church yet.

Tara put her arm around his neck and stared at Gemma who had followed her inside,

stopping just in the doorway.

She was, for once in her life, on the outside looking in, which suited the Doc

just fine-everything was going to be just fine.


	30. Chapter 30

**Epilogue**

Tara would never perform surgery again, but she had found her place in

the new world anyhow, healing people, helping those who had survived

the horrendous plague, working out of a hospital in Oregon.

Jax was wrapping up loose ends, and would be up shortly, to join her and the boys.

She wasn't sure who would take over as President, and she didn't really care anymore.

The club was ancient history, only relevent now because of Jax's unwillingness to let it die

with the old world, which she understood.

It felt too much like letting a part of himself die, and he wasn't quite ready.

If she had to guess, she supposed Tig would take over-Gem had recently set her sights on him,

as she understood it. It was fitting.

Chibs would become VP and Happy would move onto SAA.

Charming would rebuild, without them, two people who had helped save it, first from itself,

and then from something worse.

The Queen was still reigning, and had moved out to the country with Wayne, replacing

his dilapidated trailor with a newer model. One with two bedrooms.

She still couldn't believe the turn of events, but she also couldn't face the house alone.

Not yet.

So they took turns tending the garden and rolling joints.

Gemma cooked and Wayne regularly locked her out of the house,

causing her to bang on the door loud enough to rouse him from the nap he had been enjoying.

"Jesus, Gem, could you be any louder?"

She was covered in dirt, and still wearing her gardening gloves.

In short, she was having none of Wayne's shit.

"Yeah, well, I've been known to wake the dead."

"Not funny."

"Hilarious. Move your ass and let me in, I'm starving."

Everything was going back to normal, or the new version of it.

Everything was fine.


End file.
